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They took away our freedom. They took away our civil liberties. They even took away free school lunches for inner city children. Now, they are taking away our eyes.

According to a recent report by the FDA, the impotency medication "Viagra" causes blindness. At last, now we know why Bob Dole spent so much time hawking the drug, and it wasn't just to creep everyone out. Obviously, the GOP is creating an army of perpetually horny jazz pianists, for what evil purposes I have yet to uncover.

One thing is for certain, blind people cannot vote - nor can they bear witness to the horrible crimes of the Bush Junta. Nor can they read this entry informing them of Bush's sinister plot. Unless, of course, their monitors display in braille - but I doubt they do, thanks to Bush's slashing of funds to help the visually impaired. Meanwhile, the wealthiest 1% of Bush's Big Viagra buddies fill their pockets with the eyeballs of working families.

Fiesty Sen. Barbara Boxer is apparently the only Democrat left in Congress with any balls. While the DINOS were letting fascist judges through like it was going out of style, ol' Bab's threatened to block the confirmation vote for Roose Bolton until confidential photos of Michael Jackson's splotchy penis were forwarded to her office.

"We should delay this until we see that information; it's a matter of right and wrong," Boxer pleaded.

A California superior court judge ruled today against releasing several photos, drawings, and a macaroni-noodle replica of Michael Jacksons genitals, adding to a long list of obstructionist tactics from the Bush administration. Judge Rodney S. Melville was appointed to the bench in 1987 by Gov. George Deukmejian, a Republican who once attended a GOP fundraiser in which Karl Rove was present.

While predictibly dodging responsiblity and denying any connection to Jackson's penis, Bush's mouthpiece, Scott McClellan, made a snide remark in a briefing today that any classified information given to democrat senators on Monday afternoon would be in the New York Times on Tuesday morning.

Yet by stonewalling, the White House is essentially playing right into Bab's hands and delaying Bolton's confirmation vote indefinitely, or at least until Sandy Berger can sneak Michael Jackson's penis out in his trousers. Bolton's pointy elbows, bullying mustache, and gift for making grown men cry like little girls in his presence make him a liability, rather than an asset to our country. As ambassador to the United Nations, Bolton will serve as our representative to the International Community. Do we really want our loving brothers and sisters in the UN to think of America as a no-nonsense tough-guy who doesn't take any shit from anyone?

Of course not. And that's exactly why Bush is afraid to let Michael Jackson's penis stand up to scrutiny.

It was supposed to be the end of arrogance and incivility, and the beginning of a bright new era of compromise and bipartisanship. Meeting the GOP halfway, the Democrats would make all the judicial appointments from now on, and the Repugs would just bend over and grab their ankles. To my utter dismay, it's turned out to be quite the opposite. Everything was rainbows and unicorns on Monday, but as soon as the schmaltzy John McCain photo-op was over, the repugs pushed through the confirmation of an extremist judge with nary a peep from the DINOS in congress.

Priscilla Owen, perhaps the most extreme extremist who ever perched her extremist buns on the bench, will get to espouse her extremist views as an extremist appelate court judge for the rest of her extremist life. Indeed, the word "extreme" fails to adequately describe how extremely extreme this extremist is. She's so extreme, that if Vlad the Impaler's extremism was the size of a baseball, you could put a thousand of them inside Owen's extremism with enough room left over for the entire cast of Ben Hur. Let's face it, folks. She's an extremist, right down to her extremist core.

We needn't concern ourselves as to the details of her extremism, and I thank leading Democrats for not boring us with all the facts and figures. Suffice it to say that she's a Republican, she's from Texas, and she was nominated by the Shrub. That should be enough to confirm her extremism in the mind of any rational thinking progressive.

However, I'm fully aware that there are a few brain dead cons lurking on this blog who lack the reasoning skills to grasp the fundamentals of political science. Since I never pass up a chance to educate the ignorant, I googled Priscilla Owen to see who in the hell she is. Behold, as I now outline her extremist crimes in all their lurid detail:

• Voted against "Buffer Zones" around reproductive care centers - insanely claiming that the first amendment protections for anti-war protests at military recruitment centers also protect anti-choice protests at abortion clinics. As a result of her extremist decision, thousands died during botched back alley abortions.

• Often ruled against allowing abortionists to tear the screaming fetal parasite out of a little girl's womb without notifying her meddlesome parents, condemning thousands to die from botched back alley abortions.

• As a Texas Supreme Court Justice, she never participated in a single Pro-Choice March, condemning thousands to die from botched back alley abortions.

The Shrub shipped his woman off to tour the Middle East, hoping her vacant smile and artificial personality would win the hearts of the folks he's been bombing for four years. Instead of adoring crowds, she was predictably greeted with boos and jeers. Halliburton Cheney told her she'd be welcomed with flowers in the streets, but alas, all poor Laura Bush got were piles of razzberries.

It's a sharp contrast from our previous First Lady, who was warmly welcomed to the Middle East with shouts of "Allah bless you, Hillary!" and "I kill three joos for you, Hillary! Three joos!" Perhaps Mrs. Bush should have taken a lesson from her predecessor and kissed Suha Arafat rather than give her the cold shoulder.

I'm not talking about a measly peck on the cheek, either. The damage Bush has done to America's credibilty is too extensive for half measures. If we're ever to win back the trust and friendship of the peaceloving Muslim peoples, Laura Bush will have to slip Suha Arafat some serious tongue-age. I'm afraid that no less than five minutes of full-on tonsil hockey between Laura and Suha will put us back onto the Roadmap of Peace.

Being from Texas, I doubt Laura Bush is open-minded and spiritually mature enough to enjoy kissing another woman, though. That's why it is so imperative that we elect Hillary Clinton in 2008. President Hillary will never hestitate to make out with the wives of world leaders, including those of murderous madmen. Bill Clinton wouldn't either, which is why he'll make an excellent First Man.

Suha's succulent lips await you, Mrs. Bush. She's single now, and look for a good time. Will you pucker up and do what it takes to insure world peace? Or will you continue to prance around the Dome of the Rock in a black scarf, trying desperately to look like Jackie O while your husband pushes us closer to global annihilation?

"I'm sorry, sir," The restaurant manager apologized, "but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

I folded my arms. "I see. Is it because I'm wearing nothing but my undershorts?"

"You're getting warm," he replied.

I didn't want to do anything for my "birthday". Personally, I find the act of celebrating the exact day one's birth pointless, as no one really knows for certain when a person is "born". Is it when they take Jaaaay-zus as their personal savior, like the Evangelical Religious Extremists say, or when the child first registers as a democrat, as most scientists believe? It is indeed a conundrum. Unfortunately, Myranda with a Y got her tiny rat claws on my driver's license and concluded I was born on May 20, and insisted on taking me out for a "birthday dinner".

Myranda and I have been dating for about three weeks now, and I am starting to suspect she's a GOP operative sent by Karl Rove to keep tabs on me. I was almost certain of it when she fled the restaurant feigning disgust and embarassment mere seconds after I had dropped my pants. Say what you will about Peaceblossom, my former significant other who may or may not have been a member of the transgendered community, but she was always up for a spontaneous display of patriotic dissent. Myranda's abandonment made me miss Peaceblossom all the more.

"For your information," I curtly told the manager, "I am engaging in performance art to illustrate how the right-wing chickensheep of the red states enjoy their expensive meals in their fancy schmancy restaurants, while they send young boys thousands of miles away to force harmless, innocent old geezers to model underwear in our name."

"Oh, is that what you were doing?" the fascist snipped. "I thought you were standing in the middle of a Chuck E. Cheese with your pants around your ankles, scaring the crap out of the kids!"

He pointed to a corner, where a group of small children in party hats huddled together, their pale faces reflecting shock and horror. "The poor things will be scarred for life!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?" Or are they so brainwashed by Rush Limbaugh that their tiny repug brains won't accept an opposing viewpoint?"

As much as I despise "birthdays", being roughed up by jackbooted Nazis in mouse costumes was not how I wanted to remember my thirty-eiiiiiiiegggnog.

High-Fives to Harry Reid for telling it like it is yesterday. Bush simply must not be allowed to place extremist judges on the bench, many of whom are grossly inexperienced and haven't written a single law in their entire careers. The GOP's attempt to implement an up-and-down vote on judicial confirmations is a nothing more than a thinly veiled attempt to fill our courts with right-wing Uncle Toms who interpret the Constitution literally, rather than figuratively.

Despite what Bush and the repugs want us all to believe, the Constitution is not a lifeless, inanimate object, but a great big living, breathing forest, with a little bubbling creek that trickles through a pretty meadow. Our Founding Fathers left all sorts of wonderful critters in our happy forest, and you can see them yourself if you're a progressive judge, and you squint really hard.

Look! There's one! Can you see him? It's a happy little squirrel! His name is "A Woman's Right to Choose", and he's right there where Thomas Jefferson put him. Hello, Woman's Right to Choose!

And here comes three happy bunnies hopping through our pretty meadow! Why, if it isn't "A Right to Free Health Care", and "A Right to a Living Wage!" And who is that happy little black bunny tagging along? Why, it's "Affirmative Action"! Ha ha! Look at him go! He can sure keep up with the white bunnies now that they've leveled the meadow.

Ooooh! Look who they've brought with them! It's "A Right to Die with Dignity", the cutest little squirrel in the whole forest! He's been so happy since they yanked his feeding tube. Where he is off to in that feather boa and funny rainbow-colored hat? Oh, I bet I know! He's going to visit his best friends, "Gay Rights" and "Same-Sex Marriage".

And look...here's a big happy ol' chipmunk! His name is Harry. Isn't he the cutest thing? Harry doesn't like all the mean old conservative judges that crazy Cowboy in the big white cabin keeps nominating. So Harry's going to squeak and squeak and squeak until all the other little forest creatures give up and let him have is way. Go get 'em, Harry!

Oh no! Here comes that mean ol' Cowboy now! He's pouring arsenic into our creek and drilling a big ugly oil well right in the middle of our pretty meadow! His posse of Strict Constructionists are biting the heads off all our happy little critters and chopping down the trees with their big Patriot Axe!

SWEET MOTHER OF GAIA, HOW MANY LIMBS DOES MAX TREELAND HAVE TO LOSE BEFORE SOMEONE WILL STOP THE MEAN COWBOY FROM TURNING OUR HAPPY FOREST INTO A BARREN, LIFELESS MOONSCAPE????

In the past 24 hours, I've received over 950,000 emails calling me a "hyberbolic asswipe". Another 90,000 readers have expressed outrage over my post yesterday and are demanding that I print an apology and a retraction for referring to Muslims fanatics as "Muslim fanatics".

I'm sorry, but I refuse to apologize.

It is indeed a fact that the majority of innocent civilians whom the neocons refer to as "terrorists" are either small children holding cuddly puppy dogs, or "freedom fighters" struggling against U.S. imperialism. Michael Moore aptly called them "minutemen", for did the heroes of the American revolution not engage in acts of "terrorism" against the British occupiers? Did Paul Revere and John Hancock not crash their wagons into Crispus Attucks when they stormed the Bastille, killing all 279 passengers on board? Did wise ol' Ben Franklin not slowly saw the heads off British sympathizers and print engravings of their decapitated corpses in the Philadephia Gazette? To condemn brave revolutionaries like Al Sadr, Al Zarqawi, and Al Molinaro as "terrorists" is to condemn our own American patriots who fought so bravely to give women the right to choose.

However, in yesterday's blog entry I was referring to a small handful of Muslim fanatics whose "terrorist" acts aren't so noble: insane, butchering animals who serve no useful purpose in the War Against U.S. Hegemony other than to give us someone to compare churchgoing Christians to. In fact, I think recent events perfectly illustrate how dangerous the Christian right is, for if news ever got out that Muslims had discovered indoor plumbing and were flushing copies of the King James down the crapper, Methodists would be rioting in the streets. Presbyterians would be strapping C-4 to their chests and blowing themselves up inside 7-11's. Billy Graham would declare a holy war and every major American city would drown in oceans of blood.

Indeed, we saw a hint of the coming Christian jihad when the Jesuslanders turned out in droves to vote against John Kerry last year. We saw it again when they mocked Spongebob Squarepants. Make no mistake - when enlightened progressives such as myself refer to conservative Christians as "fundamentalist religious extremists" and "The American Taliban", we're not just bleating through our gazoos.

So while some readers may feel that my use of the term "Muslim fanatics" comes perilously close to religious bigotry, it was necessary in order to provide a comparison to the right-wing biblethumping morons of the red states who don't vote our way.

"One of the concerns is that some media organizations have used anonymous sources that are hiding behind that anonymity in order to generate negative attacks," peeResidential mouthpiece Scott McClellan propagandized at a White House press briefing this afternoon.

"Your point?" one reporter asked.

"My point," he replied, nervously clearing his throat, "is that fifteen people died because of erroneous reports by a reputable magazine that made false claims about the U.S. military."

McClellan's remark was greeted with confused silence.

"And...?" another reporter pressed him.

"...AND we hope that Newsweek, having admitted to their error, will help us repair some of the damage they've done to the image of our military abr--"

"Are you asking us to write a story about how great the American military is; is that what you're saying here?" NY Times chihuahua Elisabeth Bumiller interrupted.

The room erupted with gasps of shock and horror. Helen Thomas clutched her chest, her monacle popping out of her one good eye and zipping around the room like a stray bullet.

"I already know what you're going to say!" Bumiller screeched. "You're going to say we're all under arrest for crimes against the state!"

"Uh...No...actually I was just going to ask you to show a semblance of journalistic integrity and be a little more careful about what you print or report in regards to our--"

"OH MY GAWD!" someone screamed. "He's trying to silence us!"

"The Bush Putsch has begun!" another chimed in. "We're all gonna die, and without dignity!"

"Tell my wife and kids I love them!" came a cry from the back.

"Please, folks, calm down..." McClellan pleaded, but the orderly briefing had quickly deteriorated into utter chaos. Horror-stricken reporters were frantically scrambling in all directions, crying for their mothers and clawing out their own eyes in stark, unbridled terror. Bumiller tore out her hair in clumps. Helen Thomas lurched foreward and retched into her top hat. We all saw it coming when the Bush junta began issuing press passes to gay conservative journalists, but now it is official: The Bill of Rights has been repealed, and Freedom of the Press no longer exists. May 17, 2005 will forever be remembered as the day that Liberty's golden torch finally flickered out, casting the Fascist States of America into an age of darkness.

It all began last week, when a false but accurate Newsweek article detailing the desecration of the Holy Quran by murderous U.S. troops sparked deadly protests across the Middle East. Fifteen innocent people were killed and dozens more injured because a couple of CIA spooks thought it would be a real hoot to flush a $5.95 copy of the Muslim holy book down the loo.

But the real victim here is Newsweek. By forcing the magazine's editors to crawl on their knees and apologize for telling the truth or a close fascimile thereof, the Bushies have intentionally and maliciously cast aspersions on Newsweek's credibility. Once the news source of record for both progressive-minded Americans and Muslim fanatics, Newsweek is now drawing skepticism from Muslim fanatics. Many fanatical muslims fear that with the downfall of 60 Minutes last year, the last media outlet they could rely on to give them the straight poop on the Great Satan has sold out to the Bush devil.

Perhaps in time, Newsweek will earn back the trust Bush has squandered, but not until those who soiled the magazine's reputation among Muslim fanatics make things right. Until Bush issues an apology and a retraction for forcing Newsweek to issue an apology and a retraction, they will continue to lose readers to publications that fanatical Muslims feel they can better relate to, such as the New York Times and The Nation.

I'm a fairly easygoing guy, but Bush is doing his darndest to make me dislike him.

Last week, Chickenhawk Rumsfeld struck a severe blow to the nation's oldest federal jobs program by announcing the closure of several vital jobs centers worldwide. So other than serving as a saliva receptacle, the military no longer has any useful purpose whatsoever.

I don't know whether to be outraged or elated myself. On one hand, the military industrial complex is collapsing under its own weight, and an end to U.S. imperialism is at last in sight. On the other hand, thousands of union jobs will be lost, as well as less important non-union jobs held by scabs and potential scabs. Entire military communities will disappear, even as their murderous hometown heros kill matadors in Iraq, or whatever nonsense Bush has them doing to protect his oil now.

Along with my heartache over the loss of jobs, I also share General Clark's concern that a military force isolated in a few giant megabases may prove impossible to emasculate. Imagine a whole generation of soldiers who prefer shooting guns and blowing things up to wearing fuzzy sweaters and posing for gay porno mags, and you'll understand why Gen. Clark fears the sort of military the Bush junta is cooking up.

I doubt the Shrub even cares that we'll now have to drive hundreds of miles to shower the murderous troops with our pacifist loogie in the name of peace and non-violence.

Sadly, this policy of isolating the troops from the community goes back hundreds of years. When General Washington crossed the Delaware, he did so without any regards to how his departure would effect the working families of Pennsylvania. Democrats urged him to stay, to show a little compassion for the pubs and prostitutes that lived symbiotically with his army - but Washington would not be deterred. He mumbled something about a "war" going on, and then paddled off across the river without a moment's hesitation.

Two centuries later, things haven't changed all that much. The military, it seems, is still all about war.

On any day of the week, you'll see them. Starving, skeletal stick figures shuffling through Seattle's alleyways, desperately searching through the city's trash for even the smallest crumb to fill their empty, bloated bellies. Some call them "dumpster divers", or "garbage-scrounging bums". Others simply flash them a disdainful sneer and turn away. They are the forgotton ones, refugees from an economic system that lines the pockets of the wealthiest 1% at the expense of the little guy. Hungry, helpless, and homeless, they are innocent victims of the Great Bush Famine of 2005.

We meet at Tony Roma's the last Thursday of every month to share a plate of baby back ribs and discuss ways to survive the Bush Depression until Hillary takes office and we can all eat again. Our organization is small but quickly gaining popularity amongst Seattle's starving masses. There was a very nice article in the Seattle PI the other day about one of our members. A printer by trade, John Walker's hours have been dwindling thanks to Bush's Big Desktop Publishing Buddies. While a more materialistic individual might waste alot of time pounding the pavement looking for work, John spends his days scouring dumpsters for sustenance, struggling to make ends meet until someone magically materializes from out of nowhere and offers him a high-paying job that doesn't require alot of physical exertion. He's a nice guy, and I regret having to kick him out of the club, now that the paper has revealed how he has been selling his garbage. Capitalism is the cause of our problems, not the answer to them, and John is no longer welcome.

I sort of unofficially took over the leadership role when the club chairman keeled over after drinking three bottles fished out of a truck stop dumpster full of what he assumed was lemon Gatorade. The last thing he said before he doubled over in gut-wrenching agony was "I can't believe what people are throwing away these days!" This weekend, we're going to forgo our usual meeting date and location to hold an impromptu memorial service at his favorite retreat, a nice little spot where he liked to relax and watch the ocean: the dumpster behind Ivar's.

Afterwards, we plan to march up to the lower Queen Anne Safeway to protest against the genetically engineered food they throw out. "Frankenfood", as we like to call it, is one of the leading causes of death amongst the world's hungry, second only to starvation. In Seattle, it comes in third, behind syphillis and crotchrot. We intend to send the bioengineering whores and their corporate pimps a clear message that we WILL NOT tolerate tinkering with Mother Nature in any fashion that doesn't provide a moral justification for abortion.

Then we're off to a nearby McDonalds to take a courageous stand against their Super Size menu, the number one cause of obesity in people who eat at McDonalds 14 times a week. McDonalds claims to have phased out their large meals, but when I was rummaging through their dumpster the other day, a weird guy in a clown suit edged up next to me and asked if I'd like to see his "Super Size Big Mac". McDonalds and other fast food conglomerates simply must not be allowed to clandestinely continue their war on the health of the American people.

Last but not least, we'll make a quick stop at Tony Roma's to protest the barbarism of the U.S. meat industry, and root around in their dumpster. Then, if time permits, we'll pop inside for a big plate of those delicious baby back ribs. I'm a vegetarian, but barbecued baby back ribs are a guilty pleasure. Besides, we get a group discount and the desserts are spectacular.

So we have a big weekend cut out for us. I only hope that our malnourished bodies can muster up the energy to complete our noble tasks. We may have to stop off at Starbucks. Whatever it takes, we will not allow Bush to starve us into silence. If Michael Moore can survive the Great Bush Famine, then so can we.